


A Collection of Jeeves and Wooster drabbles.

by pintpotjudas



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, M/M, fic challenges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintpotjudas/pseuds/pintpotjudas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. Jeeves and Wooster drabbles, including but not limited to: Jeeves in the trenches, rower! Bertie, Robin Hood au, Doctor Who au, modern au, angst, fluff and the enlightening opinions of a London cab driver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Collection of Jeeves and Wooster drabbles.

**Author's Note:**

> Each drabble is exactly one hundred words long (no angering the purists here, heavens no) with a brief description of what the challenge/ prompt word for the work was.

**World War I:**

 

His uniform, pristine when his mother waved goodbye from the window, eyes shining with mingled pride and horror, is tarnished beyond redemption. The Captain (the new Captain, the last one is somewhere out in No Man’s Land, another body to add to the growing mountain of the dead) gives his orders, white faced. In a show of bravado, they are going over the top.

 The chorus of tin whistles goes up, like the shrill cries of screeching cats, announcing the oncoming slaughter. Then Private Reginald Jeeves is mounting the ladder, running towards the wire, the shells and his own fate.

 

**Bertie rows for Oxford:**

The wind whips past the boat as it streams along the surface of the river, an agile missile powered by the strength of eight men. For the duration all Bertie sees is the dark blue back of the man in front, hears only the shouted directives from the cox.

He ignores the throbbing in his legs, the utter fury of the muscles in his arms. They lead at Barnes Railway Bridge. They rage on, minutes blurring to seconds. The crowd screeches elatedly as they pass the finish line.

Champagne tastes sweeter when your aching body tells you it is deserved.

 

**Pining Bertie:**

I couldn’t ask for more, really, when one looks at it objectywhatsit. I have money, friends, and even a few family members who seem fairly fond of me.

If I spend my nights dreaming of something more than friendly camaraderie, of warm words and sweet caresses, of sleeping in the arms of a certain paragon amongst valets, what of it? They’re only foolish dreams.

 Airing those thoughts would be the height of stupidity. I would certainly lose (my) Jeeves, my heart, and possibly my liberty. I am a fool but not a lunatic.

 No, I really couldn’t ask for more.

 

**Pining Jeeves:**

Outwardly I’m sure I appear to be a calm, rather reserved man, sitting quietly in his window seat, looking out as the London scenery slowly bleeds away to more rural landscapes.

Inwardly I am in turmoil.

 In a cowardly act I informed him his banjolele playing had forced me to seek employment elsewhere. In reality my damnable emotions are to blame. I can no longer deny how I want him, how I long for his regard in return. The situation is hopeless.

The train clatters along the tracks and the farther it takes me from my heart’s desire the better.

 

**Jeeves and Wooster visit a favourite place:**

A chill wind whistled eerily through what once would have been the central nave of the former abbey, now just a hollow shell. Bertie stood by the crumbled remains of a great pillar, looking pensively towards the waves crashing beneath us. I imagined he was bored, longing to be back in the warmth of the hotel rather than exploring this ruin. My interest in the place had been mainly due to having read Dracula as a lad but the abbey itself was compelling.

“It’s sad, isn’t it? Beautiful, but sad.” He said, quietly, taking my hand whilst echoing my thoughts.

 

**Time:**

Time is a great healer. Ironically, the person who originally said that is now lost in the mists of it.

Anyway, it is absolute rot. Time is a matter of distance, not a panacea.

As usual Jeeves waits with the car as I walk to the family plot, my feet crunching a path through the frost, frigid fingers gripping the Christmas wreath.

I stand before the grave, my parents still together as they were in life.  I remember being a child, losing them.

Afterwards, Jeeves says nothing to my red eyes, but rests a strong, supportive hand on my shoulder.

 

**Modern AU** (Bertie is reading 'Queer London' by Matt Houlbrook):

Bertie’s reading one of Reginald’s social history books again, his brow furrowing in an endearing parody of an academic, one of his perpetual fags suspended between the gentle curve of his lips.  Reg knows he should kick up a fuss about tumours and upholstery stinking of Pall Malls but he secretly thinks Bertie looks irritatingly elegant when he smokes.

 “They had it rough, didn’t they?”

Reg is momentarily thrown by the non sequitur. Then he sees the tome Bertie is reading.

“Ah. Yes.”

“We’re very lucky, aren’t we, darling?” The endearment said so easily.

Reg smiles.  “Yes, indeed we are.”

 

 

**Fluffy Bathtimes:**

“I must admit that my back is feeling much improved.”

 

Speaking of backs, mine is pressing up against his front rather deliciously.

 

“That may just be the champagne, but I appreciate praise.”

 

He chuckles, a rare enough sound to thrill me, and takes another sip from the flute.

 

“It’s lovely, the three of us in the tub together.”

 

“Three, my love?”

 

“Well, we mustn’t forget, Ducky.” I say, brandishing the little yellow fellow.

 

Reginald outright laughs at this, plants a kiss on the delicate Wooster shoulder.

 

“No, we mustn’t.” he agrees seriously, “Don’t let him have more to drink, though.”

 

**Doctor Who AU:**

“What... are those things?” Jeeves asked.

“Daleks, enemies of the entire universe, dashed unpleasant blighters if you must know.” The other gentleman replied, using the odd instrument shaped like a screwdriver to do... something to a hanging basket.

“They just... destroyed people. I...”

Strong hands suddenly seized his shoulders and Jeeves found himself staring into bright, fathomless, blue eyes.

“I know. And I’m sorry. But we will stop them.”

Jeeves nodded, oddly reassured.

The Gentleman grinned. “Jolly good!”

When it was over The Gentleman asked Jeeves to travel with him. Jeeves agreed, as long as The Gentleman changed his tie.

 

**Exceptionally Soppy Jeeves:**

Occasionally Jeeves wonders how he actually survived without knowing this, knowing him. Sometimes he tries to imagine living without warm smiles, cherished kisses and rapturous love making. A life without mellifluous piano playing, questionable items of clothing and constant good humour shining in light blue eyes.

Sometimes he worries he will have to endure without these necessities. He might lose him to a fiancé, a new lover, or, God forbid, death.

Then Bertie’s arms would gather about his waist and the words “I couldn’t live without you” are whispered with absolute sincerity.

He needs, is needed and is utterly fulfilled.

 

**Not The Author's Cup of Tea** (or the closest I come to writing a threesome, sorry to disappoint, I am frightfully un-kinky in this respect. This is meant to be funny.)

 

“Jeeves?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“I can’t help noticing... well...I mean to say...”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Jeeves... why is Gussie Fink Nottle tied to the bedstead with a selection of my fruitier ties?”

 

Jeeves’ raised an eyebrow.

 

“Ah. I believe that we are in a situation whereby a third party is added to our usual bedroom activities.”

 

“I see... why?”

 

“Some people enjoy it, sir.”

 

“Oh.”

 

The sounds of a man struggling against woven silk bonds filled the silence.

 

“Are you-”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Me neither.”

 

Another pause.

 

“What should we do?”

 

“Perhaps we should leave the room and things will return to normal.”

 

“Capital.”

 

**Robin Hood AU:**

Holding up the Worplesdon carriage had been a rather harrowing affair. Coming face to face with not only his former fiancé, the dreaded Florence, but also the fire breathing Aunt Agatha had probably caused him to sprout grey hairs.

Jeeves had consoled him, once they had doled out the spoils to the poor of the village; it wasn’t as if he were recognised, thanks to the mask and famous pseudonym.

“Do you miss your old life?” Jeeves asked later, in the privacy of their hideout.

“No more than you miss the monastery, I should imagine.” Bertie grinned, stealing a kiss.

 

**Word Prompt 'Hamster':**

I hadn’t dared to even glance at Jeeves all evening. It was only when we shut the bedroom door did we look at each other and promptly fell about laughing like two schoolboys. When I came back to myself we were lying on the bed, still giggling.

“Honestly?”I gasped, holding my aching stomach. “Aunt Agatha thinks I should marry her?”

“I’m sure Miss Trusset has some good qualities, Bertie.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” he deadpanned, “I am given to understand that certain members of the rodent family can store sustenance in their cheeks-”

We were incoherent with mirth for some time.

 

**Prompt: 'Famous Movie Lines' (double drabble)**

The arresting officer seems oddly apologetic. However, he is still slipping the handcuffs about Jeeves’s wrists, still intent on taking him away from me.

The press jostle on the pavement around us; the upper class scandals always bring the roaches out.

“This isn’t fair, why are you only arresting him?”

“Mr Wooster, only Mr Jeeves is up on charges.” the detective sounds weary.

“Jeeves, we will fight this.”

His eyes meet mine and I see the fear; but also the resilience.

“I love you.” I say.

“I know.” he replies before the dark of the police cab swallows him up.

 

 ***

I am destined for a lunatic asylum. Not a prison in name but certainly in every other sense. The longings of my heart will be denounced as deviancy. Despair is beginning to overtake me.

The van suddenly judders to a halt and the doors flung open and he is there, grasping my hands, pulling me out of my restraints.

“Come along, Reg, we’ve an ocean liner to catch, we’re Argentina bound!”

Later he tells me of a network of sympathisers, of daring plans, the risks he took.

Now I can only say three simple words.

“I know.” he replies, grinning.

 

**Third Person POV J/W:**

 

You meet a lot of people, when you work as a cabbie. Circus performers, actors, businessmen, bridesmaids, soldiers. A Lord of the realm wearing a clingy red velvet dress and furs, who thanked me for my discretion.

Anyway, the lanky blonde gent asks me to ‘drive like the wind’ and the dark, bowler wearing bloke nods.

I catch a glimpse of them in the mirror, sitting a bit close, sharing one of those private smiles. Think of Cousin Phil and his Tom, put me foot down.

Berkeley Square sees me a whole fiver richer.

“Keep the change!” calls the gent.

 

**Bertie says how he really feels for once:**

“Oh Bertie, at last you can finally have your wish! I am free to accept your engagement!” Madeline simpered.

In the course of the last twenty four hours Bertie had fallen in a lake (twice), had shared a dinner, breakfast and lunch table with his Aunt Agatha and had only managed two minutes alone with Jeeves. He was fed up, feeling bruised, underloved and dangling on the edges of a cold. He simply couldn’t do this song and dance today.

 

So he stood up, squared his still slightly damp shoulders and made his heart’s desire known.

 

“Madeline, please _go away_.”

 

**Angsty Wedding Day Revelations:**

“Jeeves, what-?” My bedroom, which had been distinctly Jeevesless seconds earlier was suddenly rather Jeevesful. He looked rather agitated to boot.

 

“I can’t let you, sir.”

 

“Let me what?”

 

“Marry Lady Florence, sir.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Sir, I-... oh, Hell.”

 

Then my valet was pressing his lips to mine. Enjoyable, certainly, but I felt rather confused. Mustering considerable fortitude, I pulled away.

“You said no, before.” Memories of a blunt “We can’t, sir.” dogged this Wooster.

 

“I’m so sorry, sir. I hadn’t the courage before.”

 

“And now?”

 

“I haven’t the strength to be without you.”

 

“Here, here.” I whispered, drawing him close.

 

 

 


End file.
